


Burn the Witch

by ShesAKillerQueen98



Series: One Shot Fluffs [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Armor, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Good at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Patient (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Burns, But she does "nurse" Crowley, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Bad Day (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Execution, F/F, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Injury, Kinda, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild reference to non-con, Never seen, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nurse Aziraphale (Good Omens), Only briefly alluded to, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), She's not an actual nurse, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Soldier Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tenderness, Threats of Violence, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Warrior Angel, Witch Hunters, Witch Hunts, Witches, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShesAKillerQueen98/pseuds/ShesAKillerQueen98
Summary: A slight misstep has Crowley accused of witchcraft at the height of the witch hunts in England. What's worse, Hell has informed her that if she discorporates another body, she won't be granted a new one. How will she get out of this predicament? (For Callus_Ran)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: One Shot Fluffs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164884
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Burn the Witch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callus_Ran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callus_Ran/gifts).



> Warning: Mild violence, threats and mentions of death
> 
> Brief context note for those of you who don't know: In the early 1600s, when the witch hunts were beginning to get started, women of lower rank were referred to as "Goody" rather than "Mrs." or "Ms." so if you read "Goody Crowley" and get confused, this is why

One of Crowley’s fatal flaws was that she always managed to tip herself in over her head. Every bloody time she tried to follow Hell’s orders, she ended up getting herself hurt or discorporated, usually the latter. But this time was different. Hell had gotten sick of her antics. She’d been given a warning that if she discorporated another body, she wouldn’t be granted another one before the end of the century. Failure of that kind was not tolerated in Hell, so that threat was covering up another one. If she died again, she’d be in a world of trouble and would likely be tortured, maybe even by Hastur.

She had tried so damn hard to be careful, but like she always did, she bit off more than she could chew.

England was going batshit since King James had been put on the throne. Paranoia and religious fanaticism were running rampant. People were accusing neighbors, friends, sometimes even family members of being witches. The atmosphere was just rife with doubt and suspicion; perfect set up for some temptation. All she had to do was sidle up to some unsuspecting congregant outside of mass and whisper “Goody so-and-so has been acting awful suspicious of late, hasn’t she?” Then the rumors and accusations would start flying. Even better was when the accused wouldn’t confess and the clergymen would have to use every method in the book to get a confession. These methods sometimes were too much even for Crowley but she just figured that the institution would take care of everything, damning themselves and everyone else who ent along with all this witch hunt rubbish (Crowley knew witches existed but she also knew that most of them were clever enough not to get caught…unless they wanted to that is). So for the most part, she had a half decent system going. But, like she always did, she let herself grow careless. She’d tried whispering to the wrong church wife about how some other church wife was bedding the Devil and of course the only way, the wife concluded, for Crowley to know that was if she was bedding the Devil herself. Two days later, a troop of witch finders burst into her home and dragged her to the courthouse with chains on her wrists. The blacksmith must’ve gotten his hands on some ancient tome because there was a sigil carved into the iron because the second she tried to miracle herself away, all she got was a burn on her wrist.

It didn’t help that the courthouse doubled as the church and the minute they dragged her inside the building, her feet began to burn with the most blinding pain Crowley had felt since falling. She was able to hold back for about seven seconds before breaking into pained yells. That had all but sealed her fate but they continued with the trial anyway for the sake of practice. The trial had finished the day prior with Crowley gagged the whole time so her pained cries wouldn’t disrupt the people presenting evidence against her so now all that was left was to pass judgement and sentencing. It was hardly a fair trial seeing as both judges were convinced of her guilt the moment she walked through the door, but she’d had the unfortunate luck of being placed last in the queue and the court had to be adjourned before she could be sentenced.

Which was why she found herself spending the night in a dirty prison cell, the manacles still clamped around her wrists, keeping her from escaping. She couldn’t even make herself sleep and that was saying something.

For the first time in her existence, Crowley was nervous. She’d gotten out of worse scrapes than this, but there was a lot less at stake in those situations, and she wasn’t on her last corporation for the century. There was one possibility but it was risky. If she was sentenced to death, there was a chance that they would remove the shackles to either stand her up on the gallows, tie her to the stake, or set her on the chopping block, whatever they were going to do to kill her. In that split second, she could zap herself away. Hell might get pissed that she’d revealed herself unceremoniously to such a large group of humans, but it was better than getting killed again and handed over to Hastur. She’d likely only have that brief split second, but a split second was all she needed.

The moonlight trickled through the bars on the prison window, painting silvery streaks own the dirty cinderblock floor, blending in with the dead leaves, dust, and mud. The rest of the cell was dark, the only light coming from the night sky. Crowley didn’t want to look out the window. Sometimes she would look up at the sky and gaze for hours at the stars she’d made eons ago and get a little bit of comfort. But that night, looking up at them just felt bitter, so she occupied her time by staring at the four streaks of silver light on the floor.

It was a wonder that she was the only one in that cell, witch hunts usually found cells packed to bursting with accused people but Crowley was on her own. Maybe everyone else had already been executed.

Crowley did her best to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach that thought had elicited but it stayed where it was even as night melted into early morning, which slipped into afternoon and then into evening again. The day before, the cell had been somewhat full, at least three other people that had been summoned to the courthouse in succession. None of them had come back.

Crowley was beginning to wonder how long it was going to take when the door to the jail swung open and a church official stepped into the low roofed building, a smirk on his face. “Let’s get to it then.” He said, unlocking the cell door. Before he could grab Crowley’s arm, the demon gave him a shove and strolled out from the cell.

“Keep your filthy hands off me.” Crowley growled.

The man chuckled. “As her majesty wishes.” He mocked, lifting his leg and giving Crowley a good kick in the back, following it up with a harsh laugh as Crowley landed on her face. She gave a low growl as the official grabbed the back of her frock and yanked her to her feet, still burned from the day prior, and shoved her in the direction of the door. Outside the jail was an enormous crowd of people carrying torches and muskets and shouting in earnest the moment Crowley stepped out the door.

“Burn the witch!”

“Kill her! Send her back to Hell!”  
“Filthy whore of Satan!”

Crowley had been expecting the public backlash the second she had been accused. What she hadn’t been expecting, was to be dragged in the opposite direction of the church, towards the outskirts of town…where prisoners were usually executed.

“Wait! What?!” Crowley gasped to the guard, barely heard over the throng.

“You hadn’t heard, Goody Crowley?” He sneered. “The judge passed his verdict just after noon.” The grin grew a bit wider, one of the torches reflected in his eyes. The flames in the dark irises and the face framed in shadow made the guard look almost demonic. “Guilty.”

If there were blood in Crowley’s veins rather than liquid hellfire, she would have felt it go cold. “But…that’s…I wasn’t there…” She managed to gather the bits of her broken dignity that had chipped off when she let that curtain of false levelheadedness pull back to reveal the fear underneath. “Why wasn’t I brought back to the courthouse? And if the verdict was passed down at noon, what have you all been doing for the rest of the bloody day?”

The guard chuckled. “Everyone knew of your guilt. You needn’t have been there to further endanger the good people of this town with your evil ways just to hear us speak the obvious.” Crowley rolled her eyes. So much for justice. Then again, she _was_ a demon, a literal servant of the devil, so it wasn’t like they were too far off. Still an asshole move on their parts. “As for what we did with the rest of the time…” He gave Crowley another grin before turning his head to look directly in front of him. When Crowley followed his gaze, the hellfire in her veins, were it blood, would have gone cold in her once again. On the outskirts of the town, not far from a thick forest, was an enormous bundle of wood, straw, paper, and any other flammable kindling arranged in a large pyramid-like shape. At the top of it was a large wooden pole, likely between seven or eight feet tall.

A pyre.

The guard continued to drag Crowley towards the pyre while the crowd continued to roar and jeer and call their desires for Crowley’s death. For a moment, Crowley thought she saw a flash of soft white hair disappear into the crowd and there was a brief passing familiarity and love passing through her, but it faded quickly and Crowley chalked it up to wishful thinking.

Before, Crowley had a bit of hope. Maybe she wouldn’t have to use a demonic act and reveal herself in front of all these people. Maybe during the second half of the trial, she’d be able to tempt the judge to let her go, though those kinds of temptations always required something…extra.

Crowley shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the chill in the air as she was led up to the pile of kindling while the guard undid the manacles around her hands.

Use a miracle. Do it now! Do it! What are you waiting for?

Crowley was frozen, she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All she could do was stand there numbly while the guard pulled her arms behind the pole and tied her wrists together again. As if that wasn’t enough, another thick rope was wound around her stomach, effectively squeezing all the unnecessary breaths from her unneeded lungs.

Do it now! Just do it! It doesn’t matter that they’re looking!

Images of all the horrible tortures Hastur likely had waiting for her flashed through her mind and she continued to shiver.

The crowd gathered closer, the orange flames of the torches flickering above their heads like burning haloes and casting shadows over all the angered scowls and triumphant sneers. Not a single person was silent, some even threw things, from rotten fruit to bones, calling Crowley a bride of Satan (which she took personal offense too), a filthy sinner, and all manner of nasty things.

Crowley felt numb. Her ears were only registering half of what was happening. This was it. Her final chance was gone. Once this body died, she wasn’t going to get a new one. She’d be resigned officially to Hell until the end of the century and knowing them, they would stretch her sentence until the end of time. Never see another sunrise, never drink another glass of wine, never go to the theater…never see Aziraphale again.

The head judge stepped to the front of the crowd, holding up a single had and the crowd fell silent. The judge held up a roll of parchment as he turned to Crowley, his gray beard reflecting the flames.

“Antoinette Josephine Crowley,” the judge read, “you are hereby judged with the unspeakable crime of witchcraft, selling yourself to the Devil rather than remaining a pious woman, and have thus put these good people in danger. As punishment, you have been sentenced to death by burning at the stake. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Most of the other witches that had been burned had been killed before the pre was even lit but apparently, Crowley was too diabolical to be granted that mercy.

The heat of the flames licked her skin, as hot as Satan’s breath. Holy shit, what was gonna happen when she got back to Hell? She’d get one bigass scolding, and then what? The images of the tortures began to pass through her mind again but not even Crowley’s own fucked up imagination could come up with something that was likely even a fraction of the painful experience waiting for her.

The crowd let out a collective cheer and raised their torches, approaching. Drawing closer. Closing in. No air. No air!

Before the torches could even be lowered to the fire and set the kindling aflame, there was a flash of light, separating Crowley from the crowd, who were rapidly moving back, away from the pyre. It was a quick, bright glow, but it was powerful and most definitely holy. Crowley had to look away, she likely would have been blinded if she hadn’t.

When the light faded, there was a plump figure in gleaming armor. An iron sword that had been polished to a mirror shine in one hand, a shield in the other. Curls of bright blonde hair fell to the figure’s shoulders, standing out brightly agains the navy cloak hanging from her shoulders.

“A-Aziraphale?” Crowley gasped.

Were she standing in the crowd, Crowley would have been able to see the look of absolute rage on Aziraphale’s usually cheerful face.

“Hear me now!” Aziraphale bellowed, the sound of her powerful voice echoing over the silent crowd. “This woman is under the protection of Aziraphale, angel of the eastern gate!” She extended her arm, pointing the tip of the sword to the throat of the head judge. “Harm her again and you will know the wrath of Heaven.” The fear in the judge’s face drowned the reflection of the flame in his eyes and was only rivaled by the fury in Aziraphale’s. The judge swallowed and nodded, unable to make any kind of sound. Aziraphale lowered her sword and gave the crowd one final glare before turning to Crowley. The golden accents on her silvery-white armor gleamed in the reflections of the flame, creating a soft glow around her. The fury was still present in her face bu it softened significantly when her gaze shifted back to the bound demon.

The angel sheathed her sword and raised her hand, snapping her fingers. The ropes around Crowley’s wrists and stomach turned to dust and fell away, Crowley’s arms free to move once more. When she looked back up, Aziraphale was holding out her hand to her, beckoning her. Without a moment of hesitation, Crowley stumbled down the pile of kindling and hurried over to the angel, clinging to her outstretched hand. The moment their skin collided, there was another flash and the crowd disappeared in a bright swirl as Crowley’s vision was lined with black splotches. With a few blinks, they’d cleared and Crowley could see the interior of a house. It wasn’t fancy or anything too ostentatious, but it certainly wasn’t the modest cottages with their dirt floors. All in all, Crowley would describe it as comfortable, cozy, perfect living space for Aziraphale.

Speak of the angel, the second they’d appeared in the house, Aziraphale dropped the whole “wrath of Heaven” persona and let the soft, sweet, caring angel that Crowley was used to shine through and pulled Crowley into her arms, embracing her tightly (which was a little difficult since Crowley was taller than her). She held her with the utmost care and tenderly stroked the long locks of auburn hair cascading from Crowley’s head.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” Aziraphale fussed. “I knew as soon as I saw you that they wouldn’t give you up unless I made a real show out of it and I had to summon my amor and goodness I thought I’d been too late and, oh, darling!” Aziraphale pulled away and began peppering sweet kisses all along Crowley’s cheeks and jaw. “Are you hurt, dearest?”

“Nah, ‘m alright. Just a bit charged is all.” Crowley responded, still coming down from the shock of it all and letting the gentle touches and kisses pull her back to the present, trembling with the suddenness of it all. Aziraphale noticed the shivers and pressed another kiss to Crowley’s cold cheek, a breath of relief coming from exhausted lungs as Crowley laid her forehead against Aziraphale’s.

“Thanks, Angel.” Crowley whispered. “You have no idea the trouble I’d be in if I’d gotten myself discorporated again.”

Aziraphale smiled, little dimples pressing into her plump, pink cheeks. “Why don’t we go sit down and I’ll get some tea on?” Aziraphale suggested, to which Crowley agreed with a silent nod. Of course the second she tried to take a step, the burns on the bottoms of her feet began screaming and she sucked in a pained breath.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley what is it?”

“Nothing.” Crowley groaned. “Nothing, ‘m fine.”

“You are most definitely not fine, you look like you’re in pain.” The angel glanced to the floor and noticed Crowley shifting uncomfortably from the balls of her feet to the heels. “Darling your feet! Court is held in the church!”

“Angel-” Before Crowley could tell Aziraphale not to get herself worked up, she had swept the gangly demon into her arms and refused to let her go. Crowley quickly became resigned to the fact that Aziraphale was going to spend the rest of the night doting on her and there was little she could do to stop it. The demon smiled, shaking her head and nestling her face into the soft pale curls.

A little ways out from the room where they’d landed was a small cozy sitting room with a small couch and a fire place. Aziraphale set Crowley on the couch, summoning a small footstool before snapping her fingers again. In a split second, her armor was gone, replaced with a simple light brown frock with a clean white apron. She snapped her fingers a second time and there was soon a fire, crackling warm and bright in the fireplace. She snapped a third time and there was a bowl of water and a basket of clean white rags on the floor next to her. The angel knelt down onto the floor and lifted Crowley’s left foot to the stool, untying the laces on her low, leather boot, and peeling off the stocking. As son as she saw the demon’s sole, a saddened expression came over her round face.

“Oh, darling.” Aziraphale fretted, her voice tender and sad. Crowley didn’t even need to see her foot to know it was bad. The soles of her boots were starting to thin so there was little material buffering her foot from the consecrated ground. It was likely her skin was charcoal black with bloody gashes all along it.

Crowley shrugged. “’S not that bad.” She lied, gritting her teeth.

Aziraphale gave her a look, her eyebrows furrowed and her plump lips forming a pout. She could see right through her. The angel sighed, letting her expression go back to one of worry.

“Hush, now, dear.” Aziraphale soothed. “I’ll take care of this.”

She dipped one of the cloths into the water and began gently dabbing the soaked fabric to the burned skin. Instantly, a soothing coolness spread over Crowley’s foot and a relieved sigh she hadn’t even known had been building slipped from her throat. Aziraphale gave a little smile before turning her attention back to tending.

The skin of her hands was soft against Crowley’s foot and her fingers were so delicate and loving as one hand gently cradled Crowley’s heel and the other continued to press the cool cloth to the burned skin. The only sounds in the room were the crackles of the fire and the droplets of water running down Crowley’s skin. Every so often, Aziraphale would dip the rag back into the bowl, the sounds of the ripples and sloshes filling the empty space, quieting down to soft droplets hitting the water as Aziraphale wrung out the rag before returning to her task.

As Crowley continued to come down from her adrenaline high, coming to grips with the fact that she was in fact not about to die, all the energy was beginning to seep from her system. In fact, she was beginning to feel very groggy. Her eyes drifted closed and she leaned her head back, settling it onto the back of the couch while the soothing cool feeling continued to wash over her skin.

After a few more minutes, something soft touched her foot. Crowley cracked an eye open to see that Aziraphale was wrapping strips of thick cloth around her foot, gentle and tender, as if she were handling a baby. Crowley sighed again, once more leaning her head back as Azirpahale tied off the bandage, setting the demon’s heel back on the floor before gently lifting her other foot onto the stool. Once again, she peeled off the boot and stocking, gently nursing the burn and wrapping the foot in a soft bandage.

Crowley’s eyes remained closed as Aziraphale tended to her until she could no longer feel the angel’s hands. The cushions shifted next to her and she cracked an eye open when Aziraphale cleared her throat, seated next to Crowley. In her lap was the bowl of water and a few more rags.

“Would you kindly sit up a bit for me?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley shifted herself so her posture was a bit straighter and turned herself to face the angel. “Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale dipped the rag into the water and pressed it to Crowley’s face. The demon was rather surprised to find that the water was now pleasantly warm. “It’s appalling, the state of those prisons. You’re covered in dirt from head to foot.” Aziraphale huffed as she gently scrubbed the mud from Crowley’s skin.

Crowley let out a sleepy sigh and leaned into Aziraphale’s hands, settling her head into her touch. Aziraphale gave a little, “Hmm?” Before smiling and lifting her other hand to caress the demon’s slim cheek. Crowley leaned a little further into the hand, wanting t be as close to Aziraphale as she could get.

The hands were pulled away only or a plump arm to tug Crowley into a sideways embrace, settling the demon against Aziraphale’s side while she scrubbed the dirt from her arms, placing a delicate kiss against her temple once she’d finished her task.

“There we are, my dear.” Aziraphale chirped. “Now why don’t I run to the kitchen and make us some-“

“Mmm mmm.” Crowley muttered, nuzzling against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Or perhaps I should stay?” Aziraphale asked, a slight tease in her voice. Crowley hummed in approval and Aziraphale let out a light chuckle as she draped her arm around Crowley, pulling her closer and kissing the soft crown of auburn locks.

They spent the rest of the night nestled against each other, warm and content.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I hope you enjoyed this work. I want to thank the immensely talented [Callus_Ran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callus_Ran) for inspiring this piece with their amazing artwork, which can be seen [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/CI5lhXJlreu/). God check out their other work, they are amazing and so _so_ talented.  
> So I know this is very similar to another work I did based off another person's artwork ( _Sacrificial Lamb_ which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142414), if you're curious, based on a comic by [IneffableZerns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableZerns/pseuds/IneffableZerns)if you're curious) but hey what can I say? I'm a sucker for Crowley and Aziraphale rescuing each other and taking care of/being tender with each other.  
> Anyway, if you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are very appreciated and always make me very happy and fuel my writing. Thank you so much for reading and have a lovely day.


End file.
